The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries Volume I Part 24

ORESTES

I most esteem the brave and upright man.

PYLADES

And therefore have I not desir'd thy counsel.

One step's already taken. From our guards E'en now I this intelligence have gained.

A strange and G.o.dlike woman holds in check The execution of that b.l.o.o.d.y law Incense, and prayer, and an unsullied heart, These are the gifts she offers to the G.o.ds.

Rumor extols her highly, it is thought That from the race of Amazon she springs, And hither fled some great calamity.

ORESTES

Her gentle sway, it seems, lost all its power When hither came the culprit, whom the curse, Like murky night, envelops and pursues.

Our doom to seal, the pious thirst for blood The ancient cruel rite again unchains The monarch's savage will decrees our death; A woman cannot save when he condemns.

PYLADES

That 'tis a woman, is a ground for hope!

A man, the very best, with cruelty At length may so familiarize his mind, His character through custom so transform, That he shall come to make himself a law Of what at first his very soul abhorr'd.

But woman doth retain the stamp of mind She first a.s.sum'd. On her we may depend In good or evil with more certainty.

She comes; leave us alone. I dare not tell At once our names, nor unreserv'd confide Our fortunes to her. Now retire awhile, And ere she speaks with thee we'll meet again.

SCENE II

IPHIGENIA, PYLADES

IPHIGENIA

Whence art thou? Stranger, speak! To me thy bearing Stamps thee of Grecian, not of Scythian race.

[_She unbinds his chains_.]

The freedom that I give is dangerous; The G.o.ds avert the doom that threatens you!

PYLADES

Delicious music! dearly welcome tones Of our own language in a foreign land With joy my captive eye once more beholds The azure mountains of my native coast.

Oh, let this joy that I, too, am a Greek Convince thee, priestess! How I need thine aid, A moment I forget, my spirit rapt In contemplation of so fair a vision.

If fate's dread mandate doth not seal thy lips, From which of our ill.u.s.trious races say, Dost thou thy G.o.dlike origin derive?

IPHIGENIA

The priestess whom the G.o.ddess hath herself Selected and ordained, doth speak with thee.

Let that suffice: but tell me, who art thou, And what unbless'd o'erruling destiny Hath hither led thee with thy friend?

PYLADES

The woe, Whose hateful presence ever dogs our steps, I can with ease relate. Oh, would that thou Couldst with like ease, divine one, shed on us One ray of cheering hope! We are from Crete, Adrastus' sons, and I, the youngest born, Named Cephalus; my eldest brother, he, Laodamas. Between us stood a youth Savage and wild, who severed e'en in sport The joy and concord of our early youth.

Long as our father led his powers at Troy, Pa.s.sive our mother's mandate we obey'd; But when, enrich'd with booty, he return'd, And shortly after died, a contest fierce Both for the kingdom and their father's wealth, His children parted. I the eldest joined; He slew our brother; and the Furies hence For kindred murder dog his restless steps.

But to this savage sh.o.r.e the Delphian G.o.d Hath sent us, cheer'd by hope. He bade us wait Within his sister's consecrated fane The blessed hand of aid. Captives we are, And, hither brought, before thee now we stand Ordain'd for sacrifice. My tale is told.

IPHIGENIA

Fell Troy! Dear man, a.s.sure me of its fall.

PYLADES

Prostrate it lies. O unto us ensure Deliverance. The promised aid of Heaven More swiftly bring. Take pity on my brother.

O say to him a kind, a gracious word; But spare him when thou speakest, earnestly This I implore: for all too easily Through joy and sorrow and through memory Torn and distracted is his inmost being.

A feverish madness oft doth seize on him, Yielding his spirit, beautiful and free, A prey to furies.

IPHIGENIA

Great as is thy woe, Forget it, I conjure thee, for a while, Till I am satisfied.

PYLADES

The stately town, Which ten long years withstood the Grecian host, Now lies in ruins, ne'er to rise again; Yet many a hero's grave will oft recall Our sad remembrance to that barbarous sh.o.r.e.

There lies Achilles and his n.o.ble friend.

IPHIGENIA

So are ye G.o.dlike forms reduc'd to dust!

PYLADES

Nor Palamede, nor Ajax, ere again The daylight of their native land beheld.

IPHIGENIA

He speaks not of my father, doth not name Him with the fallen. He may yet survive!

I may behold him! still hope on, fond heart!

PYLADES

Yet happy are the thousands who receiv'd Their bitter death-blow from a hostile hand!

For terror wild, and end most tragical.

Some hostile, angry deity prepar'd, Instead of triumph, for the home-returning.

Do human voices never reach this sh.o.r.e?

Far as their sound extends, they bear the fame Of deeds unparallel'd. And is the woe Which fills Mycene's halls with ceaseless sighs To thee a secret still?--And know'st thou not That Clytemnestra, with aegisthus' aid, Her royal consort artfully ensnar'd, And murder'd on the day of his return?-- The monarch's house thou honorest! I perceive.

Thy breast with tidings vainly doth contend Fraught with such monstrous and unlook'd for woe.

Art thou the daughter of a friend? Art born Within the circuit of Mycene's walls?

Conceal it not, nor call me to account That here the horrid crime I first announce.

IPHIGENIA

Proceed, and tell me how the deed was done.